


Should Have Worshiped Her Sooner

by tuesdaymidnight



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky is good at sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fingerfucking, Marvel Universe, Natasha has a thing for Bucky's metal arm, Natasha-centric, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 04:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3313694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaymidnight/pseuds/tuesdaymidnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha can’t stop thinking about Barnes' arm and the way his metal fingers would feel inside her. One day, her desire gets the better of her and she goes to him to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Should Have Worshiped Her Sooner

**Author's Note:**

> So, stereowire posted [this](http://stereowire.tumblr.com/post/109823084748/more-buckynat-porn-im-gonna-blame-the-cold) on tumblr and then I wrote a fic about it. This is literally just 5000 words of porn.
> 
> Thank you to [OnTheTurningAway](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ontheturningaway) and [sapphirescribe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirescribe) for looking this over. 
> 
> Title comes from Hozier's [Take Me to Church](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYSVMgRr6pw). Because yes.

Natasha couldn’t stop thinking about metal.

She prided herself on having mastery over her impulses, her feelings, and the way sometimes her stomach would drop and heat would pool between her legs with desire. She fucked when she wanted to get release—no ties, no regrets. But, and this was important, she didn’t _have_ to act on any of her desires, especially when they would result in complicating the few friendships she allowed herself to have.

But when she held onto the metal pole in the subway car, thinking about how smooth and cool to the touch it was, how it warmed under her hand when she gripped onto to it tighter, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about what that sensation would feel like inside her. Well, to hell with her self-control. She took a detour that afternoon and went to a sex shop and found a metal vibrator.

She used it that night, pressing it against her clit until her legs were shaking and she could feel herself getting slick and wet. When she pushed it inside her, it slid in easily. She fucked herself with it, twisting her wrist, imagining it was firm metal fingers pumping in and out of her. She planted her feet on her bed with her legs spread wide, pushing her hips against nothing, looking for friction the toy just couldn’t give her.

She came with a heaving gasp, but it wasn’t the same. There was no give, no one pushing back. It was too easy. Natasha didn’t like easy. Easy wasn’t satisfying.

She weighed the risk of going after what—who—she really wanted. There were consequences to anyone finding out, and she was certain they would.   

Fury? He wasn’t so much a friend as a colleague. Though, she was never sure that was how he saw it. Regardless, he didn’t care what Natasha did when she was off his watch. She could screw her way through the phone book so long as she did her job.

Clint? Oh, he would laugh at her. She had a sneaking suspicion he already knew about her inconvenient attraction to Barnes, but, ultimately, he would tell her to go for it. “Get laid, Nat. One of us should.” The fucking martyr.

Steve? Well, Steve was the complicated one. Steve truly was a friend. The two of them weren’t bound by shared history the way she and Clint were. They were friends because they got along with each other. She actually liked Rogers. It probably broke some kind of code for her to sleep with his best friend from childhood, but then she did warn Steve she wasn’t very good at “friends.”

Which is why she found herself on the doorstep of a brownstone in Brooklyn when she knew for certain that one Steven Grant Rogers was on assignment on the other side of the world.

Barnes answered the door when she rang the bell. She wasn’t sure he would. After getting his programming removed by the agency formerly known as SHIELD’s finest, he was no longer considered a risk, but he was still jumpy, wary of people, and had massive anti-social tendencies, maybe even worse than hers.

“Steve’s not here,” he said flatly.

“I know. Can I come in?”

His eyes narrowed with suspicion, but he opened the door just the same.

She followed him into the living room. It was sparsely decorated, like a normal bachelor pad shared by two men in their late 20s. Except there was no giant television surrounded by gaming systems or empty beer bottles and pizza boxes littering the coffee table. There was an old fashioned console stereo that housed a phonograph, along with shelves of books and records.

A half-empty teacup sat on the coffee table, and a copy of The Captain’s Daughter—in Russian—sat next to it.

She didn’t sit down; instead, she chose to lean against the back of the sofa.

“Um, can I get you something? Tea? Water?”  

“No, but thank you.”

He was giving her nothing, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room staring at her with intense suspicion. She let him look, staring back at him with as much want as she was willing to betray, waiting for him to draw the right conclusion. He was barefoot, wearing black jeans and a black tank that only barely hid the scarred seam where metal attached to his body. He never wore anything so revealing in public. Natasha had to try hard not to stare. Finally, he cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair. If he were anyone but the Winter Soldier, Natasha would have thought it was nerves.

“I see the way you look at me,” he said slowly. “The way you look at my arm. It’s not the same way Stark looks at it.”

“No, it’s not that way at all,” she agreed in a low voice. So he did understand why she was there.

“Do you even like me?” he asked.

Barnes’ words surprised her, but his expression was unreadable. She didn’t want to lie to him, which was revealing in itself, but the truth was she didn’t know if she liked him or not. Some days she didn’t even feel like a person capable of liking another person beyond the superficial. He, of all people, would probably understand, but she still couldn’t tell him that. She wasn’t here for a heart-to-heart.

“Do I need to like you?” she finally asked.

“Might be nice,” he said with a shrug, and Natasha wondered if this whole thing wasn’t a thoroughly awful idea. But then he moved.

The Winter Soldier’s actions were always calculated and deliberate, but the man who pressed in close to her wasn’t the Winter Soldier. He was the man with a chip on his shoulder who grew up in Depression-era Brooklyn, who was a loyal friend to Steve Rogers regardless of time and place, who talked back to Fury in meetings, and who sometimes had the haunted look in his eyes of a soldier returned from war—a look Natasha just _knew_ existed even before he fell from the train back in 1944.

His non-metal arm wrapped firmly around her waist and he bent his head down. His lips were lined up with hers, but not quite touching. She couldn’t fight the shiver of desire that coursed through her.

“What do you want?” he murmured. He was so close that she could feel the vibration of his lips on hers.  

“Everything,” she breathed back.

He nodded almost imperceptibly. Then she jumped, wrapping her legs around his waist; his metal arm came under her hips immediately for support.

As soon as Barnes’ mouth was on hers, she couldn’t hold back. She wanted him, that was all there was to it. She had never wanted anyone so much, not like this. She was already wet with desire, just from the way he had looked at her and the way he kissed her back with a greedy hunger that matched hers. Her whole body buzzed as she clung to him. With her left hand gripping the back of his neck, she brought her right to hold onto his metal shoulder. It rippled under her touch, whirring as he started to walk. She had to swallow back a moan that was trying to escape. She had dreamed of this, of being allowed to touch him.

She almost asked if it was okay to touch his arm, but it sounded insulting when she ran it through her head. He would tell her if it wasn’t.

He held her weight easily as he headed down the hallway. She moved her lips to his neck, the most accessible bit of skin she could reach. She started out with a tentative kiss, but when he didn’t react, she used her teeth.

“Mmm…” he said. “Widow’s bite?”

Natasha smiled against his shoulder. Barnes had Steve’s dry sense of humor, and it never failed to throw her off balance when he used it.

When they reached his bedroom, even more sparsely decorated than the rest of the apartment, he unhooked her legs and tossed her onto the bed with a smirk. There was a sudden boyishness to his features that made her breath catch. Afraid of what she might say, she whipped her shirt off. Then she kicked off her shoes and shimmied out of her jeans. He remained dressed, standing near the foot of the bed watching her as she tossed her clothes aside.

His expression had changed, finally softened into something she could read. They were both people who had layers and layers of guards they kept up, but this was the most Natasha had ever gotten from him. Barnes looked her up and down appreciatively, but he seemed to focus mostly on her face. And it wasn’t from some misplaced sense of chivalry like the kind Steve possessed.

He didn’t just want her because she was attractive. He wanted _her_. She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at him.

Accepting the invitation, he moved, quickly again, kneeling in front of her. He didn’t bother unhooking her bra, but pulled the cups down—with his real hand—so he could draw one of her nipples into his mouth. He sucked on the peak, pulling gently until she let out an undignified noise. That seemed to satisfy him, so he moved onto the other, this time sucking a mark on her soft flesh next to her areola, before licking around the nipple until it was wet with saliva.

Only then did he bring his left hand up to cup her breast. She gasped at the touch, at the way he delicately flicked the metal thumb at her hardened nipple with just the right amount of pressure to make her gasp. She couldn’t help but wonder how much control over it he had. He could catch Steve’s shield in that hand, could take a widow’s bite without being incapacitated by it, could rip off Sam’s wings like he was pulling the wing off an insect, and here it was stroking her nipple with a delicate touch she wasn’t expecting.

She threw her head back and arched her body, pushing her breast forward into his hand. He didn’t seem to have her sense of urgency. He moved his lips between her breasts, letting them ghost over her skin while his metal hand squeezed and fondled with a teasing speed.

He licked his way down to her navel, dipping his tongue into her belly button. It was the one place she used to be ticklish. Natasha had overcome that particular weakness early on in her training, but sometimes when her guard was down, she could remember. She squirmed slightly as he traced around it with his tongue. There was no way he didn’t catch the movement, but he didn’t take advantage.

His right hand was on her thigh, pushing her legs open wider so he could relax into the space on the floor in front of her. He rubbed her supple skin, almost as if he was massaging the muscle, but the motion was slow and light, not therapeutic. When he got down to her knee, he dragged his fingertips back up, stopping right at the edge of her panties, pushing his thumb under the elastic and tracing it up along the sensitive mound before drawing it back. He moved his left hand to her left thigh and mimicked the motion. The sensation was such a sharp contrast—metal instead of flesh and bone—but his touch was equally as delicate.  

Natasha couldn’t tell which touch she preferred, but both at once was maddening. She exhaled loudly with impatience.

There was the faintest hint of a smile on his face as he leaned down, curving his back until he was right there between her thighs. He mouthed at the crotch of her simple black cotton panties. She was already so wet with need, they were nearly soaked through. He pushed the flat of his tongue against her, adding to the dampness of the fabric with his warm breath. She gasped and brought her hand up to his right shoulder, digging her fingers into his warm skin.

He sucked the cotton into his mouth, pulling the fabric away from her body, letting the cooler air of the room hit her flesh where she was warm and aching.

She let go of him and leaned back onto her elbows, throwing her head back again with a groan.

He seemed to like her reaction. At least, he pushed the crotch of her panties aside, holding them back with his right hand, exposing her cunt to the room.

Without any warning his mouth was on her, repeating the flat licking motion upward, pressing firmly when he reached her clit, then pulling back and giving it a few teasing licks with the tip of his tongue. She tried to spread her legs wider, but she was already throbbing and wide open, greedy for him to do more than tease.

He pressed his tongue down again, tasting her, gathering her wetness on his tongue and humming with approval. He grew more insistent, but he never established any sort of rhythm, licking and tasting, and then pushing the hooded skin back to suck on her clit. There wasn’t intention in his ministrations; it was almost like Barnes was remembering. His motions grew more confident as her breathing picked up.

She was enjoying the feeling of his hot mouth against her when he shocked her out of her haze. Her head snapped up and she cried out as he rubbed his metal index finger between her folds.

“Oh, oh,” she panted as he slid it up and down, rubbing her clit and then moving back down to gather more slickness.

He moved faster with his finger than he had with his tongue, and her gasps started growing more staccato. She could come from this—just this—and she started to feel her body heat up.

She was close, so close, when he stopped. She cried out in frustration. Natasha looked down at him, about to scold him when she caught his expression. His pupils were dark and wide, and he looked almost debauched, almost soft. He was panting too.  

“You said you wanted everything.” Barnes said it like a question.

She could hear Fury’s voice in her head, “Romanoff is comfortable with everything,” and she had to bite back a laugh. This wasn’t at all what Fury had in mind—but it fit nonetheless.

She waited until he lifted his head fully to make eye contact with her. He didn’t ask her to clarify what she meant by “everything,” and she didn’t want him to.

Barnes was in a completely subservient position. He would do anything she asked, and she knew it. Whether it was residual of his brainwashing or if he had always been willing to follow orders, she didn’t know. But at the same time she was in charge, she was giving herself over to him willingly. So far he seemed to want to explore, touching her and cataloging her reactions, and he was good. He was already playing her like an instrument he had once mastered. Whatever “everything” meant to him, she wanted it.

Natasha nodded her unconditional assent.

The corner of his lips twitched up as he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of her panties. He scooted backward and she closed the space between her legs so he could slide them down. He threw them aside roughly.

He slid his hands up her sides. The contrasting sensation of metal fingers and calloused fingertips was maddening—soft and hard, warm and cool, all at once. It was the flesh hand that reached around to unhook her bra. He tossed it over his shoulder.

She didn’t see where it landed because his hands were gripping her sides with intent. He flipped her over easily. Her knees hit the bed, and she propped herself up so she was on all fours.  

She heard him stand, and then he curved over her body. The contrast was electrifying when his clothing rubbed against her naked skin. When they sparred with each other, Barnes didn’t seem nearly as big as he did right then, covering Natasha’s body easily with his. The bed dipped as he put his weight on it. She shuffled forward to give him room so they were both on their knees, his hands on either side of hers.

He sucked on the skin at the back of her neck, thrusting forward slightly so she could feel he was hard through a layer of denim. He kissed the juncture where her neck and shoulder met. Then he leaned forward even more so his lips could brush the back of her ear.

“Everything,” he repeated. “That could mean a lot of things, Nastaha Romanoff.” Barnes’ voice was almost teasing.

“You want me to like you,” she said. “So do what will make me like you.”

He chuckled. The sound of Barnes' laughter surprised her; it wasn’t a sound she had heard from him before. And then he responded to her in a low voice, “Oh, I can make you like me.”  

Her breath hitched with the promise.

He pulled back a little and kissed along her spine, wet kisses, each punctuated by the slightest flick of his tongue. There was a trail of damp skin leading down her spine to the dip of her ass. He brushed down along it lightly with the tips of his metal fingers.

Natasha shivered again at the sensation.

She canted her hips back, silently asking for more. The need for more of his touch was starting to ache. She could take the light, torturous touches, but she needed more. She didn’t want to let him know how much he affected her, or at least not that she never felt like this, never wanted, never let herself be so vulnerable to another person’s touch.

He pressed another wet kiss at the base of her spine, his tongue dipping into the crease of her ass.

When she hoarsely cried out, “James,” in reaction, she thought maybe she had just betrayed everything. She never called him anything but “Barnes.”

He grabbed her hips and pulled her down to the edge of the bed so fast she almost lost her balance. It was a new feeling, to be so off-kilter, to be so out of control—and she liked it. She put her feet down on the floor and planted her hands on the mattress to steady herself.

He got down on his knees behind her, but didn’t give her a second to adjust to the new position before leaning forward and sinking his teeth into the flesh of her ass. Like her breasts and her belly button, he was going for the softest parts of her and the most vulnerable. He knew the human body; he knew where he could touch to get the most reaction. Just like he knew where to inflict the most damage. For Natasha, it only added to his appeal as a lover.

Before she could let out a noise of approval, she was cut off by the cool sensation of metal tracing along her labia. She was already sensitive from before. His light touch was maddening, and she was throbbing for him to touch her with intent.  

Even though she was aching with need, she still wasn’t ready when he pushed a finger inside her. She gasped and a tremor coursed through her body. Barnes was inside her, just like she had imagined.

He probed her slowly with two fingers as if he was letting her savor the sensation, like he was offering something to her. His metal fingers were warmer than she had imagined when she used her vibrator, but they were cooler than the rest of his body—cooler than the rest of his touch.

Barnes’ fingers were solid but not hard, pliable; they curved inside her to fit with the shape of her body. She clenched around them experimentally.

“Can you feel that?” Natasha asked, somehow regaining control of her voice.

“Pressure? Yeah.”

From his answer, he couldn’t tell if that meant he liked it. She didn’t know how connected his remaining nerves were to the arm. Maybe he enjoyed watching as he fingered her, maybe he just wanted her reaction. But then he pushed against the wall of her vagina right where she liked, and she stopped thinking altogether.

He kept his fingers moving in and out of her, angling them just so, as he brought his mouth down to her ass once more. She felt his tongue between her legs, licking the sensitive bit of skin between her cunt and her ass. She spread her feet more, trying to give him room.

But then he licked a stripe up right between her cheeks, and she stuttered, falling onto her elbows with surprise. She wasn’t expecting him to go there, most men would never consider it, but Barnes was full of surprises.

His tongue lapped at her hole, tracing around it, while his metal hand fucked her with two fingers. He angled his hand so his thumb could tease at the rim of her asshole when he pushed inside her even deeper.

She thrust her hips back, matching his rhythm, seeking more—more what she didn’t know. She planted her left knee and left hand on the mattress for balance. It gave her more leverage to push back against his hand and against his face which was nearly pressed against her ass.  

He seemed spurred on by her eagerness, by the need that was rushing through her. His tongue started getting sloppier, wetter, as he licked her, sucking at her hole. He used his right hand to hold her ass open wide enough that he could start to push his tongue inside, eating her out like he had done to her pussy. It felt incredible, beyond words, and she regretted a lifetime spent without ever having someone rim her.

Sensation was coming from everywhere, even though they were only joined in two places. Once he finally settled into a rhythm there was no going back. His tongue and his fingers worked in tandem, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

She reached back with her right arm and tugged on his hair.

“Was thinking about cutting it,” Barnes muttered. His voice was like a hum against her sensitive skin.

Natasha couldn’t answer. He didn’t break rhythm even though he spoke. He fucked into her even faster with his fingers, pushing them in firmly and rubbing inside her, dragging them against her walls on the way out. When he pulled them out, he mouthed at her asshole, pressed his tongue against her right where she was most sensitive.

It was wet and messy. She could feel his saliva rolling down between her cheeks. His metal fingers squelched with her wetness, the only sound in the room other than the buzzing of his arm and her harsh, panting breath.

She was right there, teetering on the edge. Her body was on fire, heat rushing from her arms and legs and pooling at her core, ready to explode. Then his arm whirred louder as he pushed his fingers in harder and his metal pinkie brushed against her clit, and it was the trigger she needed.

Natasha fell off the precipice, hurtling downward and breaking apart in a rush of tingling sensation. She cried out with a low and guttural “oh,” as she rode the pulsing waves of orgasm.

He fucked her through it, slowing his fingers and his tongue at first and then speeding up again to drag more pleasure from her.

He seemed to know when she couldn’t take anymore. He pulled back, letting his fingers slip out of her slowly. She squirmed at the loss, but the cool air of the room felt good against her overheated body.

He flipped her over again onto her back, gently so her knees were at the edge of the bed, feet touching the floor like he knew Natasha needed to feel the ground. He looked down at her. She was panting and sweating, and Barnes looked so composed. His hair was a mess, his skin was flushed, and his lips were red and swollen, but he looked present and solid—in wild contrast to how she felt, broken open into a thousand pieces. He brought his metal hand up to his mouth and sucked his first two fingers, the ones that had just been inside her, into his mouth.

She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling to avoid staring.

“Are you going to fuck me?” she asked, out of breath like she had just been in a fight.

Barnes didn’t answer, so she looked back at him. He shook his head ever-so-slightly. She looked down at his crotch; he was clearly aroused. His cock was bulging against the zipper of his jeans. Whatever he was doing to her, it was obviously making him aroused. He had made it clear he wanted her.

“You can,” she suggested, in case permission was something he needed.

“But that’s not what you want.”

Once again Barnes surprised her. She propped herself up on her elbows. “It’s not?” she challenged. It wasn’t completely true. She did want him in every way imaginable, especially after the way he played with her ass so expertly, but right then, she didn’t need to feel him in that way, not yet.

In lieu of a verbal answer, he unzipped his pants, pushing them down just enough to get his cock free. He wore no underwear. He looked fully hard, and she realized that maybe she had misjudged his apparent control. There was part of her that wanted to reach out, grab his cock and tease his foreskin with her tongue, give something back of what he had just given to her.

But then he took himself in his hand—his metal hand—and she groaned. Arousal spiked through her again.  

“See?” he said, licking his lips. “It’s not what you want, is it?”

“Not this time,” she agreed. If he responded she paid no attention because he started to stroke himself with his metal hand.

His arm made the same whirring noises it did whenever it adjusted, but the sound was almost melodic as he jerked himself faster. Natasha didn’t bother hiding her interest. Barnes’ eyes snapped to her face, looking for something.

Whatever it was he seemed to find it, because he moved in closer between her legs and reached down to rub his thumb against her clit. She was still sensitive there, almost too sensitive, but his flesh hand was gentle, just a ghost of pressure as he drew his thumb in quick circles. It didn’t take long for her to feel herself climbing back up. Her body ready again for another fall into oblivion.

“I can do that,” she offered.

“No. I want you to watch me. I don’t want you to be distracted.”  

Watching was not an issue. He could lift full-grown men up by the throat with the hand that was thumbing at his foreskin, bringing it up over the head and tugging before sliding it back down. He was going so fast, the whirring was almost like a steady note.

His slit was starting to bead with precome, and the urge to reach out and taste it was still there, but she was trapped both from watching his metal hand work and by the way he was grounding her with nothing but a thumb.

His right hand was working her quickly, the pressure just right, and he never faltered. She didn’t think she would be able to come again so soon after feeling so utterly swept away, but when she could tell he was getting close, she started to thrust up against his hand in quick beats, trying to match the speed with which he stroked himself.

Barnes was starting to break. His hair was damp with sweat, and he was biting his lip like he was holding something back.

“I want to come on you,” he finally said, almost like he was asking for permission.

“Yes,” she breathed the word as if he had.

He stepped in even closer, leaning over her. She could see the grip on his dick tighten. The control he had over the arm was an expert’s precision. With a few more fast, tight strokes, his eyes went wide and then silently he started to come, pulsing warm stripes onto her chest and belly. She arched up toward him. He started working her faster, rubbing her clit in circles until Natasha was right there again, coming hard and fast as he pumped the final drops of semen from his cock onto her body.

She grabbed at his hand, pushing it away when it was too much. She brought her other arm up to cover her eyes, as if she could shield herself, protect herself, from where she was now lying open and exposed.

She let him have a piece of her she had never given to anyone. She trusted him. And it was terrifying.

He didn’t say anything, letting her lie there until she came back to herself. She found the scattered pieces and starting putting them back into whoever Natasha Romanoff was.

She opened her eyes and scooted back until she was lying fully on the bed. She knew her knees would be too weak to stand. He had tucked himself back into his jeans and was running a hand through his hair. The sweat made it stay back, exposing his face fully, making him look younger.

He pulled out a plain white handkerchief from his back pocket. Her eyes widened and she smiled with a warmth she couldn’t quite explain. He grew up before Kleenex were ubiquitous. Men in Russia always carried handkerchiefs too.   

“It’s clean,” he said defensively.

“It’s fine,” she said, her voice hoarse, unable to explain her smile.

She thought he would hand it to her, but instead he climbed onto the bed and wiped her off—first the slickness between her legs and then at the semen already starting to dry on her torso. He tossed the used handkerchief aside and then started to move away from her.

“Lie down with me,” she said suddenly, not ready to leave his presence.

“Okay,” he said as if it was just that easy.

Well, maybe it was.

They didn’t cuddle, instead lying side by side. Natasha was having a hard time holding onto her thoughts, but she wondered what was going through Barnes’ mind. She wondered if they should talk about what just happened. She wondered what, if anything, they should say to Steve.

He spoke first.

“So do you like me now?”

She rolled over onto her side and propped herself up to look down at him.

“I think it’s safe to say, ‘yes’.”

“Thought so,” Barnes murmured. Then he closed his eyes, effectively putting an end to Natasha’s wondering.

They could talk later, she thought, as she lay back down, this time curling against his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://http://tuesdaymidnight.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/tuesdaymidnight) so we can cry about Sebastian Stan together.


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